save it for the morning after
by mimiplaysgames
Summary: Aqua learns the value of being vulnerable. Terqua Lemon.


_**HAPPY TERRAQUA DAY! I'm so glad to celebrate the only OTP I have, so ENJOY THE SMUT. I want to thank lyssala, not just my critique partner but also such a good friend, a wonderful cheerleader, someone who knows the right things to say in my darkest nights, and an amazing writer who has given pieces to this fandom that still inspire me. Thank you so much for your support, this piece would have died without you. **_

* * *

_"Can I kiss you?" was his response when she finally gave in to her curiosity and outright confessed that for years, she'd been thinking differently of their friendship. She wanted to know if she was the only one to experience her stomach lurching into her lungs whenever he gave her attention. _

_It took him a great amount of courage to ask even though she was the one to take the risk and expose herself first. But growing weary of being patient sometimes reaped great rewards, and a calm, collected (flattered) Aqua, who failed to contain the smile stretching across her face, answered by leaning forward to meet her lips with his. _

_They were warm and intimidated. He held his breath. _

_Her hands stayed crossed over her lap, knees tucked under as she sat on the carpet. Terra's knuckles whitened as he balled his into fists, one on the loveseat behind them and another on the coffee table, like he was terrified of contaminating her with his touch unless he washed them first. _

_The two of them kissed in her favorite spot in the multi-storied library, a usually undisturbed nook tucked away at the edge of a maze of shelves on the second floor, where she spent hours letting her mind drift with printed words. The only other thing here was a fireplace – unlit, because the sun shone through the tall windows. Open books wait across the table, full of subjects they needed to study for their Mark of Mastery exam, which was coming up in a few short weeks. But those paragraphs certainly weren't compelling enough to keep their attention, so they sat there, ignored._

_Terra only allowed himself to fully breathe when they parted. He licked his lips, and swallowed. "That was interesting."_

_"What?" For something that was supposed to be good, pleasant at best, 'interesting' wasn't the best reaction. _

_"Uh, well…" He rubbed his fingers and ran a hand through his hair, and he avoided her eyes. "You smell good."_

_"Oh… so do you." _

_His eyes caught hers, lips pursed exactly the way he would have them when the Master criticized his progress. "You didn't like it."_

_"No! I mean yes! I liked it," she said, hoping the blush rising in her cheeks wasn't too obvious. "It sounded like you didn't." _

_"I did."_

_They slowly melted into a nervous laughter, clearing their throats as they picked off glances from each another for any sign that they could continue. _

_She moved first, inching her knees closer to him and he met her halfway this time. This kiss was more relaxed, made for two friends needing the safety in exploring the unknown together. He eased into more of them when she leaned for more, and found the most appropriate place he could put his hand – her elbow. _

_What stopped them was the sound of footsteps and hearing the Master call for their names._

_The rip out of the kiss was full of wide-eyed shock, held breaths, snatched books, bent pages, and throwing themselves on opposite ends of the table like they never had the audacity to think about touching each other. _

_Terra signaled to her with a hum, but she couldn't interpret his warning. He whispered with tight lips, "your book is upside down." _

_It was, she was just too focused on a blur of ink to get into acting like it was important to read. _

_She corrected it just as the Master appeared around the corner, Terra being the only one prepared to play it smoothly – and he did it so well. This was how he hid his thoughts from her, well enough to keep her guessing whether he reciprocated her feelings. She let him talk as she took the seconds to calm her beating heart before joining the conversation. Something about how proud the Master was to see them working so hard, that lunch today was going to have meat. _

_The struggle to keep their giggles to themselves until they were sure the Master wouldn't hear them was harder than any test they've taken so far, so much that her cheeks hurt from the uncontrollable grins she clenched behind her hands. _

_Being close to him was distracting enough that they agreed to study for the exam away from each other. They made sure their spar sessions were focused and productive – up until Terra decided that they had enough and it turned into a game of cat and mouse: he'd swoop his offenses inward, breaching the gap she kept in between them when she evaded his heavy swings, just so he could grab her into a hug. With a smug look on his face to top it off. _

_Small moments were filled with him holding her hand – once an innocent act but now it had different connotations. They talked about when they realized they held crushes for the other. Terra was the first. _

_When they critiqued each other's work, it was always interrupted by smiles and lingering stares. They stole kisses when Aqua pinned him on far walls, so they wouldn't be caught right away. He leaned downward enough so she didn't have to be on her toes, and they progressed to a point where he held her close by the waist and she started to part her lips to invite his to do more._

_But the day the Master noticed their technique grew floundering and unfocused was the day they stopped, at least for now. The exam came first, and they promised each other to back off – until the moment where they would pass the test and became Masters together like they were supposed to, and could be free to be the adults they were. _

* * *

In her favorite nook in the library, the light from the fireplace burns, and it stretches past the loveseat she sits on. But it can only go so far, weakening to the point that it is engulfed in the darkness that spreads through every floor, taking the books with it. It burns bright enough for the shadows to know exactly where she is, if they are even there to begin with.

It is night, and an army of silent snowflakes beat on the window panes. Tightly wrapped in a fleece blanket – nothing this soft existed in the Realm of Darkness - she doesn't relax. She can't. The cackle of the flames is predictable, but what isn't is the pattern of creaks that moan in an old castle caught in the middle of a blizzard.

But she is confident she can handle whatever lurks among the shelves behind her. She is Aqua, Master at keeping her proverbial shield up, checking if the rooms are free of threat five times a day, and being snippy with her Keyblade.

She is only a complete dunce at sleeping.

It's too late to bother her boys when she should have the self-control necessary to rest her head on a pillow, and stay there. How weak is she that she is making up reasons to hear herself speak.

"I'm not afraid of you," she says, even though there aren't any shadows left to speak to here. But old habits are hard to break. "Any of you."

Silence replies too loudly.

It's common nature that the quiet is the most powerful. Keep a person feeling like she is small, inconsequential, nothing. No greater force worthy of such a title than to break away any sense that she has a reason to exist.

The blizzard outside makes good work of suffocating the trees under a blanket of white, and it's eerie how it's just as hushed. The snow is weightless, even in droves, and no creature outside dares test its endurance. Even if she finds the strength to scream at the top of her lungs to make it stop, it will barely be a whisper against the tranquil onslaught that envelopes the entire castle. By morning, they'll be buried. And she's the only who knows.

But it's in the way the earth drowns in snow where she finds what really bothers her: she can't fix loneliness by herself.

At least silence has one weakness.

"Who is there?" she asks at the footsteps approaching. They are soft enough against the carpet that they have to be barefoot.

"Me," Terra replies, gliding across to take the seat next to her. He is dazed, like he's experiencing something electrifying in the exclusivity of his mind, and she doesn't have the privilege to feel the same.

"What is it this time?" She lets go of the grip on her blanket.

He smacks his lips and throws out an esophageal breath. "Mouthwash." He fans at himself. "It burns."

She laughs through her nose. Terra has always been sincere, but this is entirely different, and endearing.

Cut off from all his senses for over a decade, he now experiences the smallest things with the biggest enthusiasm. A "WOW" for the taste of marinated beef. Mouth agape in a stupor when he hears music. He cried the first night he came back to the castle, watching the stars.

"You'll get used to it," she says when he doesn't stop squirming and rubbing his face.

"Easy for you to say." He takes one hard look at her. "What are you doing here anyway?"

She should have known this is coming. "I'm fine."

He snorts. "You're talking to yourself."

"I'm not…" It's useless to lie to him.

"So you're talking to Heartless. Did you name any of them?" He leans his arm on the backrest of the loveseat, surveying the library.

"Sure," she says, deadpan. "There's Dark Darkness, Bitter Sadness, and I Don't Recall."

He straightens himself. "Which one's your favorite?"

"Dead."

"Cute."

Aqua really, _really_ hates to be associated with anything cute, and he knows it. But she would be lying to herself to pretend like she doesn't miss it. She shuffles out of the protection of her blanket and curls over on his lap, leaning on his chest to feel his heartbeat.

"I'll let that slide for now," she warns.

He wraps his arm around her shoulders, and she has no resistance to how it melts away years of hard conditioning.

In the early years in the Realm of Darkness, she hugged herself for comfort. In the later ones, she forgot what a hug was.

There is something about an embrace that nearly shoves her into tears, like it's an apology she's been needing to hear. She resists crying about it.

He puts a hand on her bare knee, and she has to wonder if he remembers the kiss they shared in this very room, all those years ago.

"You're never going to get warm if you don't dress appropriately for the weather," he says, talking about her shorts.

"I'm fine," she repeats.

"You're shivering."

She draws a long inhale to stop herself from snarling, a crooked smile wrestling on her face. "What do you want, Terra?"

"Are you going to stay here?"

Years of being possessed and he comes back with this maddening need to know where she is at all times of the day and night. He doesn't spare Ventus, either. In case something happens and he needs to feel less useless over protecting them.

"Would you feel better if I was safe in my room?" Safe being the wildcard of a word. Being in one place for too long always makes her expect that the floor is going to suddenly collapse.

"I'll carry you."

It's not a bad offer. "Fine. Piggy-back style."

He grins, no doubt proud he has succeeded in convincing her when she's really just doing him a favor. Or maybe he really has. It doesn't matter when he has his hands under her thighs as he picks her up on his back. This way she can experience what it's like to be as tall as him, and it's cozy to nestle her face into his hair. A faint trace of sandalwood and his natural scent, something along the lines of earthy dough.

The residence wing is dark because it rests in the comfort of the storm, one light to be the guide in one hallway. But everything is the same, and neither of them need to reacquaint themselves. The castle truly never gave a damn about the test of time, and time never spared a care for it either.

It's too quiet, and she feels the anticipation in Terra's shoulders as he creeps up to Ventus' door. The lights are off.

Their boy is locked in a dream, with Chirithy curled into a ball at his feet, like it's attempting to be a proper cat. What they see is a marvel: Ventus is _finally_ sleeping.

They don't dare say anything to each other, keeping the scene undisturbed. Aqua fights back tears as she digs her face into his neck. It's been a long time since any of them have seen any real improvement.

Terra meticulously shuts the door, not letting too much light in and drawing the longest seconds to twist the knob.

He carries her to her room, letting go right in front of the bedside table. The lamp that sits there casts off a dim golden glow that leaves the rest fighting for the right to stay in the light. She should really replace the lightbulb soon.

"Is something wrong?" he asks.

"He cheated," she says, her voice hushed and dark.

"Who did?"

"Xehanort." In an attempt to keep her voice low so there isn't a probability that Ventus will wake up, she hisses. "He cheated everything. Death. Time. And in the end, he just gets away with it like nothing ever happened."

In these situations, Terra usually takes the path of least resistance. Not a day has gone by that he has spoken about what he's been through, and the mention of Xehanort leaves a mark in the glint of his eye before he works to erase it.

And she can't demand him to speak, when she refuses to talk about a lot of things too.

"He just rests in peace when we're the ones who still deal with the fallout," she continues, keeping her whisper sharp and she flails her arm around to prove a point and lets it slap back to her side. "When is time going to work for us? When will it let us sleep?"

"We're going to be okay, Aqua." It's his go-to.

And she doesn't know how he does it, how he got so much stronger than she hopes to be. His eyes are still soft like she has always known them, but he has grown to wear the face of a man who was forced to let go of everything, with no Mark of Mastery hovering over his head, no faraway glances at worlds unknown. Terra is now and will be present with his family first before anything else.

Aqua inches closer to him, needing a hug to save her from sobbing. But she doesn't ask for it. She has survived isolation for so long, she can certainly survive the night once he goes to bed.

"How are you not angry?" she asks softly.

His jaw drops. It is too personal a question.

"I'm sorry, I shouldn't have asked." She rubs her face, backing away.

"No." He holds her upper arms to keep her near, a smile on his face. The Terra-smile, gentle, steadfast, faithful. "It's about time we should talk about these things, anyway."

She doesn't want to talk about it.

So he volunteers, avoiding her gaze. "If I really make myself think about it, of course I get mad. Yeah…" His eyes scatter around her room, though there isn't much to notice. She's very tidy. He clenches his jaw for a moment, and wills himself to let go like he's done with everything else. "But how can that stay important? I can see again."

It's hard for her to know right away if she finds that justified, when she still wants some sort of retribution for what she's been through.

"What about peace of mind?"

Terra chuckles half-heartedly and inward, the sort of thing he'd only do when he's shy. He takes her hand. "You're here. You're real. I don't need anything else."

What she finds in the touch is irony. Love is too strong a word to use when they've been separated for this long, even though it has remained unchanged all these years, in spite of everything.

"Can I kiss you?" is her response.

He doesn't give her enough time to interpret what it means when he stares hard at her, speechless. Instead, she is pulled toward him, and he comes at her with such a fever that he stops himself before he finds her lips, letting himself finish with a slow, nonthreatening advance.

The kiss is tender and long, mending together their shattered pieces with the care not to break them any further. The moment he pulls away is the opportunity she takes to close the gap, in case he disappears into thin air (even if she knows in the back of her mind that those days are over), resting her hands on his chest, encouraging him to stay. It's easier than gasping in shock over the smell of mint in his breath.

And stay he does, caressing her as he feels the sway of her back, the curves of her waist, the softness of her arms. She nearly collapses when he brings his hands to cup her jaw – it isn't too far away a time when she believed she'd never feel his desire for her again. She parts her lips, and he responds in kind, holding her tighter as he runs his hands over the same areas again and again, like he keeps forgetting what she feels like.

Their first accident happens when she throws her arms around him and they bump into her bedside table. The lamp rattles like a screaming echo, and he rips from her embrace to catch it, and she has her hands over her mouth as though her breath will shriek.

They flinch when they hear the soft thump of it landing it back on her nightstand. They stare at her open doorway, waiting to hear if Ventus will start rustling, desperate for their attention. Please, let the poor boy sleep in peace.

Nothing stirs save for their panting.

Terra takes the initiative to shut her bedroom door. Wrapping herself in her arms doesn't have the same effect, when they aren't as tender as his.

It's when the door is coaxed into its frame that they strain near-giggles, breathy and careful. He pats her doorknob, like he's unsure if he's invited.

"I don't want to stop, Terra."

A second or two pass by before he rushes back to her. It doesn't matter who hugs who first, tasting themselves with their tongues, someone's hands in someone's hair, bodies pressed together, and heavy breathing.

They shuffle over to her bed, and it's an awkward dance where they take turns stepping onto each other's feet, and they're too busy with their hands to make commentary or laugh about it.

Sitting down forces more distance in between, when she spent enough years in isolation. She climbs him, straddling his lap. It happens so quickly and so naturally that it's nearly innocent when it truly never is. The buck of his pelvis, the growing erection underneath his soft pajamas which she feels through her thin shorts, and the groan exchanged from his lips into hers confirm it's a good decision.

He rubs a hand on her thigh, focusing his mouth on her face, her jaw, down to her neck.

Her neck, the stars don't know how much she has daydreamed of this. And they can't witness it, not with the storm clouds keeping the castle discreet.

And her body doesn't respond like she expects it to. Fighting Heartless, fighting Terra is a reflex of intuition. They are reactive, primal, intelligent, where she understands her body well enough to know the limits of how far she can jump, how hard she can take a hit and still stand.

Kisses on her neck, though, appear in how she squeezes his hips in her thighs, how she leans her head back to give him more room, and how she realizes too late that she's gripping his shirt into knots.

Terra responds to her movement with deep guzzles in her skin, pushing on her tailbone against his groin. She gasps.

He stops immediately in between a smack of his lips to her skin, reeling back. "Was that-"

She murmurs disapprovingly – at him putting a stop to his actions and at the hint of apology in his voice. "I liked it."

To prove it, she grinds against him, closing her eyes in between exploring his jawline with her mouth and feeling the warmth of her insides as he throbs underneath her. This fabric needs to go, and she nearly asks him strip them, but he's so busy with her mouth that she doesn't dare interrupt.

He squeezes her thigh, pulling it toward him though there is nowhere else for it go, and meets her movements, creating a rhythm with her that at first is messy and unsynchronized, until they find a proper momentum.

His breathing gets more coarse as time goes on.

"What's wrong?" she asks.

"I-It's hot," he sighs, squirming like the acknowledgment has made the room's temperature unbearable.

Aqua teases his shirt, and he desperately does the rest, throwing it over his shoulders and tossing it to wherever it lands.

His body is a craft, years of dedicated labor shown through the dips of his pecs. Her hands are too small to wrap around his biceps, his abdomen is firm. Then there are the irregularities, the tears of skin that have braided over each other, a huge fossilized gash across the left side of his chest, where his heart beats behind it.

It's what steals her attention the most. The last thing she saw before she plunged after him, and magic will probably never erase it.

He splays a hand over her fingers against the scar. "It's okay," he says.

"What is?"

"Everything," he breathes. "Whatever you're feeling, if you're never ready to talk about it, it's okay."

She has to wonder if he tells himself the same thing to make peace with the debris left behind for them to pick up. Does he also consider words dead after all that's happened?

And she has to stop wondering or else she will cry.

It's okay.

It's okay if she releases anger with her nibbles against his neck, in a spot where she quickly learns he likes most. It's okay to try her hand at forgiving darkness when she steadies his face to explore his jawline. If she can't find it in her heart to forgive now, she'll try later. If she kisses his scar with a spell and it still doesn't disappear, maybe there will be a day when she will be proud of him for wearing it. If they skip a beat in the rhythm of their grinding, if they choose to forget that anything bad has happened to them so they can enjoy the moment, now, in between the interlacing of their fingers, they'll be fine.

His fingers trace and take steps up against the sides of waist, lifting her shirt up along with them, until they find a space to linger right on her rib cage.

"Aqua?"

"Yes" is her affirmative answer.

Too needy to let her do it on her own, he lifts it over, and she doesn't let him see when she presses onto him, skin to skin on areas she used to think were forsaken, now exposed. This is the closest they have ever been. His hands are calloused, and finding new areas on her soft shoulders leave a friction that electrifies her and she's about to beg him to finish her off.

A warm thumb finds itself testing the side of her breast, waiting for her reactions before treading further. Until a hand plays with massaging it, the callousness of his palm making her breath hitch in his lips.

It's a good a time as any to pull away, and he observes her with the expression of someone forced to relive regrets as he slowly conducts his fingers to make the softest skin on her body move.

"I never told you," he says solemnly and moves to the other breast before lifting his eyes to look right into hers, "you're beautiful."

Aqua catches a scoff before it fully exhales, releasing it as a chuckle instead. She is probably never going to get used to that. "Terra, speak for yourself."

She knows him enough to notice when he catches sight of an opportunity to tease about her shyness, and she promises herself that she will pay him back twofold if he takes it.

But instead, he finds the inspiration to flick a thumb at her nipple. To make his finger do the same, to hold it in between. She shivers and a whimper escapes. It is not a breakdown of her defenses but a dissolution, and she loses strength in her knees.

"Shit," she sighs, unable to find control over her sensations, relaxing into his embrace.

"You alright?"

"More than."

He lays down her body, making sure her head lands on a pillow, and she lays down her arms when he hovers over her, following a brilliant idea to trace kisses on her collarbone, her pectorals, down her breastbone, before coming back up to take one of her nipples.

His tongue tickles, and her lower body clenches, warming and yearning.

There is something velvety about his abdomen when she rubs her palms against them, or her hands suddenly got clammy. Traveling downward, she teases the hem of his pajamas, wondering if she can level the playing field.

"Can I?"

He smiles into her softness. "Please."

His pelvis lurches forward when she continues to travel, finding a sweet spot tucked between his inner leg and the rest. She wraps her fingers around his shaft, and the impeccable wall he's been doing a good job of keeping up this entire time disappears.

Terra stifles a moan, letting it out in grunts and muffling it against her shoulder so he doesn't risk making too much noise. He reaches a hand to wrap around hers, tightening her grip, coaxing her to move it the way he likes it. Weakness takes him over, too, and he settles by her side as she continues.

There have been times when she's knocked him down in duels, times where she's accidentally hit him in sensitive areas that had him reeling, but nothing is like this. It's like watching him dissolving, head buried in the pillow, eyelashes fluttering, face speaking a language of its own as he enjoys it, chin stretched so much that the veins of his neck start to protrude. A pulse holds in her hand, and he's completely submissive.

But soon he gains his will back to look at her with half-lidded eyes, and takes a finger to her shorts, drawing circles on the top of her pelvic bone, and her heart beats harder. It's easy to let her nerves take over, but she decides to be brave when she does not resist, rolling on her back, inviting him.

He slips his fingers into her shorts, running them over her panties first, and the chill climbing her spine is already enough to send her over. Her wetness is cold in comparison to him, and when he's done, he spares her the agony by slipping under the last piece of fabric sheathing her from his touch.

It isn't just courage that exists when she gives him the most vulnerable spot on her body. He takes it slow when he massages her slit, and her hips perk, on the edge of throttling but she holds on to the last bit of her control. There is truth there as well, and maybe letting the areas they protect the most be touched will help them rebuild the strength they'll need to endure the insane amount of time necessary to let them move on. Together.

Her relaxation teeters on a spike as she closes her eyes and lets herself just feel, but she gasps. Sharply. He found her clitoris.

"There," she moans.

"Shhhh, you'll wake Ven," she feels on her temple, with a peck. He chuckles into her hair. "I don't think you want him to find us like this."

She nearly smacks him for putting an image like that in her mind at a time like this. But she must have been scowling hard when she hears him laugh gently.

He is watching her as he works her, tracing circles around such a sensitive collection of nerves, lying on his side and resting his head on the other hand. Studying her face.

"Your reactions are very interesting," he says.

The more he does his job, the more it becomes unbearable to contain herself. She covers her face in both of her hands, rubbing her eyes hard enough to stop them from letting her tears run. It's been a long, long time since she has remembered that she deserves good things.

"Terra, I'm ready."

"For what?"

"You." It takes a moment, watching his face blank in confusion, before she continues, "I want you." She needs him.

And it's a struggle between knowing she should relax and enjoy the ride, and the desperation to have everything at once and to learn what he'll feel like inside. But it's fine, she can take all the time to explore everything else once she's had what she's most curious about.

He sits up, his mind wandering, apprehension sitting at the tip of his tongue. "Isn't it going to hurt you?"

It's in the nature of their work to brace for pain. Swinging Keyblades, for real or for practice, is an art of building resilience, respecting the bruises and scrapes for what they are until soreness is no longer an issue. They have grown up under this discipline – Terra and Aqua are partners in improving their technique but also in standing together. Accidents will and have always happened, and they have to listen when it hits too hard.

The strictest rule they have abided by is not to strike the other's head.

"Maybe," she says, recalling three books she has read on the subject have mentioned it will. Three books in a library of hundreds, and she makes a mental note that she'll have to buy better ones. "Just don't hit my head."

It makes him smile, and he nods. Standing off the bed, he bundles her shorts and panties and pulls them off, his fingers trailing the sides of her hips, down her legs. Then he takes his pants down, and it's when she sees his naked body that it truly hits her like a ton of bricks that she is actually doing this with her best friend.

"What?" he asks nervously.

She doesn't know what her expression looks like and there aren't any good words she can use to compliment the tone of his thighs, how the dim light in this room casts shadows around the folds flexed by muscle, his length which is aroused and ready, his height, anything else.

What she knows is that she is blushing, there's a smile she can't remove, and she is hiding it behind her hand as that's the only way she can deal it.

"You look good," is the best thing she can come up with.

"Really?" he replies like he knows it. "Speak for yourself."

He's back on the bed now, on his knees, taking hers and spreading her open. Rubbing her inner thighs like he's warming her up, taking his time to look at her.

"It looks like a rose," is what he has to say, wrapping a hand around her hip to give one of her buttocks a firm squeeze. He wears a coy smile, like's he's planning something devious. "You're beautiful."

He laughs when she scoffs at the compliment, and she's probably going to have to deal with it for as long as they're together. He plants a kiss on the inner side of her knee, and can't help himself to but to give more her thigh, like he wants her as badly.

"You're sure about this?"

"Yes."

"Okay… Tell me when to stop and I will."

Slipping himself into her doesn't come easy. She focuses on relaxing herself, even though her mind is buzzing with messages of how freaked she should be. She decides that right now, like it is every day to her, this mind a horrible friend.

Horrible enough to stop her attempts to relax, and he meets resistance as he takes steps to sink deeper into her. It's impressive how strong her muscles are to put up such a fight, and the stronger they are, the more it hurts, and she doesn't know how to calm them down.

So she tells herself that it will go away when she notices that Terra is really taking his time, carefully monitoring her responses. When he comes closer, he stops to give her time to adjust, and each new wave of pain evaporates as pleasure comes to the rescue and takes its place.

Some of it is more intense than others, and there is what feels like a hard push and almost a tear deep within that gets her to clench her eyes tight enough to see red, and hiss.

"I'm sorry," she hears him say.

"Don't," she snips. It's something she hears too often. He apologizes for what he's done, for what he didn't do and for things that she still doesn't blame him for. Maybe she's a hypocrite, asking him to live without crying over the same things she sheds tears for when she's alone.

She's tired of it, having to be reminded of things they can't go back to fix, having to tell herself that she isn't fucking crazy, and there's no place for that here, right now. After all, if there is any person out there that she could possibly choose to trust this with, it's him.

She softens her voice, assured that's he's just as nervous as she is. "It's okay."

Aqua lifts her head to invite a kiss and he answers. This gets him in deeper and he moans into her mouth, and she learns that he particularly likes her bottom lip. He lets himself relax on top of her while he waits for her to give him the okay to move again.

A short moment to acknowledge the fullness is all she needs, wrapping her legs around his, sending him into a rocking motion.

This is how it works, him rolling his hips forward for her to take him in and she gives back with a sway of her own. He pins her against the bed, interlacing all of his fingers into hers, timing his thrusts with his deep kisses. They steal her breath, but they give her life.

Aqua remembers too well what it's like to never let go. Letting go used to mean to get eaten alive, to fall to darkness, to be taken advantage of. Anxiety was a friend she relied on, using its warnings to keep her prepared for what is coming next. Most of the time, it worked, and there have been times where it completely sabotaged her.

She relishes the strength of his pushes and the friction he massages her insides with when she lets anxiety go in sweet surrender. The weight of his body on hers is like having a guardian there to keep her safe, where it's easy and she doesn't have to think or scrutinize anymore.

Inspiration strikes, and she lifts her legs higher to squeeze his hips, eliciting a moan from him and it sounds intoxicating. His thrusts become faster and harder as he grunts into her shoulder, his hot breath coming at her ear at the same speed. His kisses just can't keep pace, and the room fills with the scent of what they're doing.

He gets on his shoulders, and his heavy eyes perk open when he looks at her. His own darken, their bold color saturated in such delicate artificial light, but if they aren't under the scrutiny of something bright and natural, then they are safe to be themselves here. He is lost somewhere in hers, speechless in the feeling, and it feels _good_ to have him do this, her hands on his back feeling them work.

The way he looks at her like this makes her realize that he really, truly means it when he tells her she is beautiful, and she wants him to know, wants him to always remember, that she is the one to love him first.

She immediately sits up, because words won't come and they don't need to. She hopes the kiss can translate what she's really thinking. It stops his focus and forces him back to his knees, holding her to receive what she's giving. But nothing she does seems to be enough to send the exact message she wants to tell, and she finds herself turning the tables, straddling on top of him as he lays out on his back.

This movement is easier, riding herself up and down on his length, and she thinks he finally knows. He changes from throwing his chin up high as he pushes himself into the pillow to letting it hang, from chewing his lip to hot sighs. She is doing this to him, letting him savor her like this. He grips her hips, kneading her buttocks as he pushes her harder on him, the pressure captivating her upward and she forces herself to not let it out too loudly, moaning through pursed lips. She changes the angle and it's even better, hitting her in sensitive areas she's never realized she has.

He grips her harder, enough to snap her out of her meditation. Terra clenches his teeth, his face contorting and she thinks she's hurting him. She stops.

"Terra?"

At the sound of his name, his eyes blink. He scrambles, throwing his arms around her tightly, and he buries himself in her shoulder to muffle the sound of his crying. Tears fall down her chest, first warm and then chilling, and he fights for breath, shivering because this, like many other experiences for him these days, is overwhelming and powerful.

This finally undoes her. She cries enough to clog her nose, her tears covering his face when she holds him firmly, and she's exhausted.

"Hey," she coos, rubbing his back.

"I'm sorry," he says, taking a slow moment to breathe her in deeply. "I ruined the moment."

She sighs. "I thought I hurt you."

He rubs the sway of her back, but he's really trying to comfort himself. "No… not at all. This is the best thing I've ever done with you."

There isn't a truer statement, these two finally taking a moment to find themselves a new life.

"It's okay. You'll get used to it," she says softly into his hair.

Terra exhales slowly, and she feels the muscles of his arms give way to weariness. She gives him gentle kisses on his cheeks, and he tenses just enough to pick her up like she weighs nothing and lay her on her side, beside him. Her bed is smaller, it brings them closer.

He trembles from the adrenaline. It's what happens when he re-discovers what it's like to feel.

"Are you sore?" he asks, taking his turn to wipe undried tears from her face.

"A little." She returns the favor, finding a comfortable spot on his shoulder.

There is a shot of guilt on his face and there is really nothing she can do to convince him otherwise. That there is such a thing as a good bruise. It will take time.

"Do you need anything? Water?" he asks.

If he slips away, even for her sake, he takes home with him. "Stay with me," she says, holding his waist tighter.

The nod he gives shudders too fast, like a schoolboy unsure how to talk to a special girl. "Did I…" He clears his throat, and he doesn't stop shaking. Still.

It's cute.

"Did you…?"

He's afraid of what she will say, so he answers it for himself. "I could have done better, I think."

She giggles into his shoulder, and he groans, mumbling about how embarrassed he feels.

"No one expected you to be a sword master when you first tried," she says. "We'll both improve."

He nods softly, the look on his face telling her he's still kicking himself for not doing his best job, like he has forgotten that good technique takes practice.

It probably wasn't the right thing to say, and he rolls onto his back, his hand stuttering at the touch of his forehead.

"You're adorable," she says.

He eyes her window, still standing strong. The blizzard has softened, but it leaves them a tall pile of snow packed on her windowsill, nearly reaching half as tall.

"I'll let that slide for now," he smirks, and it's knowing, like he has no plan to let her get away with it.

He sits up, leaving her embrace, and he has only half a sane mind when he fiddles with the latch. It is difficult for him to undo because he is shaking so much.

"Terra, what are you doing?" She covers herself immediately.

"It's really hot in here," he says, leaving a space in between his words like they're too difficult to utter.

The window opens outward, toppling mounds of snow over and he sighs loudly into on the marble. Then he jumps back, shuddering from the ice.

She laughs when the wind hits her across the face, bundling herself up in a roll.

"Shhhh." He has a finger to his lips and snow starts to dance its way inside.

A hand to her mouth is too late. "Oh no, what will Ven think if he wakes up?"

Terra picks her up to let her sit on his lap, taking her comforter to wrap the both of them tightly in a knot together, like a cocoon. "He's old enough to know what this looks like."

He finally breathes something that sounds like he can rest, letting snowflakes hit his skin like the cold doesn't bother him. He has her covered enough that she's protected, supported in his embrace where it's difficult to wrestle out of. Not that she'd want to, being this close is a privilege she will remember never to take for granted again.

At least now, she has him to share the view with tonight.

A star-shaped snowflake, broken only on one side, falls on his neck. She takes it in with her mouth, suckling on it.

The ice is a painful sting on her tongue, like a needle that turns into a sharp shot down her throat. But it is welcoming, like she's alive and it was sent there to remind her. Nature doing its best job uncorrupted.

They have warmth wrapped under that blanket, kept just for them and saved for a rainy day. Or a snowy one.


End file.
